Fear
by Loisarah
Summary: Even in death, Lena still haunts Westlake.


  
  
  
[Title]: Fear  
  
[Author]: Loisarah   
  
[Email]: det_westlake@hotmail.com   
  
[Feedback]: Yes, please, at addy above   
  
[Disclaimer]: Characters owned by Paramount, I am making no money off this   
... trust me. I just cashed in my piggy bank. I am broke.   
  
[Work in progress]: complete story   
  
[Author's Notes]: This one was inspired by Lena's two episodes, "Cat and   
Mouse" and "Seminar   
from Hell." She's the East German mercenary who wanted revenge with Westlake,   
the one who blew up the hotel for those of you who don't follow episode   
titles. It's also inspired by "Attack of the Teki-ya" because I thought it   
seemed like Frankie was pretty good at getting Westlake to talk. =)   
  
Cat and Mouse: "It gives me immense pleasure thinking of you lying awake in   
bed at night wondering whether tonight's the night you wake up with a knife   
stuck in your throat. And then one night, you will." -- Lena, to Westlake   
  
  
[Summary]: What does Westlake fear?  
  
[Timeline]: 4th season, After "Seminar from Hell" but before "Split Decision"   
  
[Date first posted or Date of most recent revision]: July 22, 2000  
  
[Rating]: PG, or PG-13  
  
[Warnings]: violence  
  
[spoilers]: "Cat and Mouse", "Seminar From Hell", minor reference to   
"Shutdown"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Fear (1/1)   
  
by Loisarah   
  
  
The wire around her neck was slowly being tightened, making it hard to   
breathe. Westlake could feel her tormentor behind her, pulling the wire   
backwards harder, and Westlake was having a hard time standing, keeping her   
balance. She reached up, trying to get her fingers between the wire and her   
skin, but it was already too tight, and her bound hands dropped, hanging   
limply in front of her. The sharp pain of the wire cutting into skin made it   
difficult to concentrate   
on what was happening around her.   
  
"I told you that you were only alive because I wanted you that way..." the   
voice trailed off, and the wire kept getting tighter... Westlake thought it   
was breaking the skin, but she couldn't concentrate, or move. She was afraid   
to move.   
  
"How does it feel, knowing your life is almost over?"   
  
Lena's words broke through the haze clouding Westlake's mind ... and slowly   
her lips and voice managed to work together. "NO."   
  
The wire loosened, and Lena moved back a bit, laughing. "You don't give up,   
do you, Westlake?"   
  
She again tried to slip her fingers under the wire to pull it away from her   
neck. After a few tugs she managed to pull it from Lena's grip and away from   
her neck. Westlake realized she'd done exactly what was expected when a knife   
blade replaced the sharp wire. A bitter laugh came from her attacker.   
Westlake stood motionless, again afraid to move.   
  
"You know, I'm going to miss this little game of cat and mouse, but, like   
all games, it must come to an end." Lena took the wire from Westlake's grasp   
and moved, slowly, from behind Westlake, knife still at her throat. Lena   
faced her prey and pushed her up against the wall of the dimly lit room. She   
pulled Westlake's arms up over her head and to the hook already on the wall   
above her, using the rope that bound Westlake's hands to restrain her to the   
hook.  
  
"No, Lena ... no." Westlake watched in horror, paralyzed, unable to move or   
scream, no doubt in her mind as to what would happen next. Lena held up the   
knife and turned it over in her hand, watching the dim lighting reflect on   
the blade.   
  
"Its now." Lena stepped closer to her, holding the knife up... Westlake   
closed her eyes, felt the blade cut through the skin and the pain...   
  
She opened her eyes to see Lena holding the blade, blood dripping off it ...   
and everything began to fade ... she tried to scream, but nothing would   
work ... everything kept getting darker and darker ... she couldn't breathe...  
  
  
Westlake sat up in bed, waking abruptly from the nightmare. She gasped for   
air, relieved to find that she could still breathe. Her hands went to her   
throat. Even though it was only a dream, she could still feel residual pain   
across the front of her neck...and it scared her.   
  
Afraid to go back to sleep, she got out of bed and walked downstairs to her   
kitchen for a glass of water ... every step fearing she'd see Lena in front   
of   
her, taunting her, holding a weapon on her. She knew that her fear was   
completely unreasonable. Lena was dead ... she'd died in an explosion ...   
there   
was no way she'd come back again. There was no reason to fear someone who   
couldn't come back to haunt her.   
  
Except in her dreams. She shuddered ... trying to drive the fear out of her   
mind, and the memories she had of being held hostage by Lena, trapped in her   
car, wire around her neck...   
  
She left the kitchen and sat down on her couch, cordless phone in hand, and   
began to dial Joe's number. As she was about to push the last number, she   
stopped, turned it off, and set it back down on its cradle. "I can't… its no   
big deal." She reasoned.   
  
A few seconds after she set it down, the phone began to ring, making her   
jump. She took a few deep breaths before answering the phone.   
  
"Hello?" She answered, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she felt.   
  
"Hey Westlake, its Frankie. Sorry it's late, but we need you here at the   
complex for the Emerson case."   
  
"Um, yeah, I'll be there as... as soon as I can."   
  
"Great... Westlake?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Are you all right? 'Cause usually if I call you this late you take my head   
off."   
  
Westlake smiled. "Yeah, everything's fine."   
  
"Fine?" asked Frankie, unconvinced.   
  
"Yes, fine," she replied, a bit testily.   
  
"Right."   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"   
  
"Nothing. Hey, see you in 20 minutes," Frankie said as he hung up.   
  
"Frankie ... hello?"   
  
  
Later….   
  
"Hey, I thought you were going to go home and get a few hours of sleep,   
Westlake."   
  
She turned from the case files she was reading. "Oh, yeah, I'll leave in a   
few minutes, Frankie."   
  
Frankie walked over to the table she was working at and sat beside her.   
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.   
  
"What?"   
  
"When I called, you weren't asleep. Now, you don't want to go home to sleep.   
Something's up."   
  
Westlake closed the folder and leaned back in her chair. "Nothing's 'up,'   
Frankie, I'm fine."   
  
"Right," he said, skeptically.   
  
"You think I'm not fine?"   
  
"Depends on your definition."   
  
She rolled her eyes. "Frankie."   
  
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him.   
"Something's going on with you, Westlake… Insomnia?"   
  
"No."   
  
"Nightmares?"   
  
She didn't respond.   
  
"Okay, let me guess… Lena, again."   
  
Westlake still didn't respond.   
  
"Westlake, she terrorized you, tried to kill you more than once. It's not a   
weakness to admit that she scared you."   
  
"Frankie, it's over. She's gone. End of story."   
  
Westlake…" he trailed off, exasperated.   
  
"What, Frankie?"   
  
"If it's still bothering you, it's not 'end of story.' It's okay if what   
happens frightens you." He watched her as she looked back down at the stack   
of files in front of her, avoiding his gaze.   
  
"You amaze me, Westlake. If this had happened to anyone but you, you'd   
understand… but to yourself… you think it's a weakness."   
  
"That's not true," she tried to protest.   
  
"Yes, it is. You're afraid to admit that you still fear her, because you   
think it makes you look bad, like you failed somehow." Frankie watched her as   
she stared at the files, still avoiding his gaze. He decided to not push the   
issue any further.   
  
"I'm going to head home for a while. Are you staying here?"   
  
"Yeah, I think so. I… um... I don't feel too much like sleeping."   
  
"All right. I'll see you in a few hours."   
  
"Okay." She reopened her folder again as Frankie walked toward the elevator.   
  
"Frankie?" she yelled, stopping him.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Thanks," she responded.   
  
"Any time, Westlake," he said before leaving.   
  
After he left, Westlake got up from the table to get a cup of coffee. "Forget   
the  
motor pool, he should have been a detective," she muttered to herself, amazed   
at his ability to get answers out of her. "Or a therapist."   
  
  
End   
  
(c) 2000 SEG   
comments welcome to lloisarah@aol.com or det_westlake@hotmail.com  
  



End file.
